Words Can
by A. Heimby
Summary: Young Sherlock AU. Words can do a great many things, and not all of them are good. What happens what Sherlock takes the wrong words to heart?
1. Words Can Kill

They always screamed horrible things at him. He was used to it, and he could usually ignore it, just brush it off, and never give it a second thought. It was nothing new to him to be hated because he was different, because he scared people with all he knew, all he could tell about them. That simply was how his life worked. Seventeen years of hatred toward him, for no good reason, be it from his mother and father, or his class mates and teachers, or even strangers, he was used to it. But this time the words got to him; this time he could not simply brush them off, or simply ignore them. They were ringing in his head from the moment he heard them until he was sitting up in his room, hours later, alone, while his parents ate dinner.

He tried everything he could to silence his mind, but at the best of times he could not. His violin worked at first, for a few minutes at least, as he focused on the song, and making every pull of the bow precise and perfect, but he soon found he knew it off by heart and his mind was wandering again, back to those words, those horrible, horrible, thought provoking, words.

He put his head in his hands, sitting in his dark messy room, on the edge of his unmade bed, and tried to pull those thoughts out of his mind by pulling his dark curly hair, but it seemed to just make it worse, it made the words louder, if that was even possible. Now the words were screaming in his head, and he could hear and think nothing else as they echoed continually. As he got dragged in to the memory it was so clear, he might as well have been standing in the cafeteria at school again with a cores of insults being thrown at him, but in the memory he could only hear one of them being shouted, the only one that ever made him flinch.

"Why don't you go kill yourself you freak, no one wants you hear, no one wants you alive! Do the world a favor and die!"

Although he had kept his mask of indifference on at school those words had been a sucker punch to the gut. Anybody less stupid than his classmates would have noticed him pale at the words, the fact he stopped breathing for a little too long in between breaths, the way his eyes seemed to show they had finally broken him, but the only person who could ever read, or for that matter ever tried to read, Sherlock was his older brother Mycroft, and he was off at Uni, and Sherlock often doubted whether his brother actually cared about him since he left.

For a second Sherlock was distracted with one of his few good memories from his child hood. It was not good in itself, at least how it started, but it did end up being one of his most cherished memories of him and his smarter older brother, not even just that, it was one of his overall most cherished memories of his whole life.

He had been about twelve at the time, and Mycroft was how old Sherlock was now, in his last year before going off to Uni. Sherlock had had a particularly bad day at school, it had been one of the first times one of his classmates had followed through on a physical threat, and Sherlock had been feeling weak, lower than low, and when he had gotten home his parents had only made it worse, telling him he probably pissed someone off and deserved it. Sherlock had decided to skip dinner after that,much like he had this day, and had hidden up in his room until he heard a soft knock at the door and saw Mycroft peek his head in.

"Little brother." Mycroft had inclined his head as he said it as a greeting.

Snapping a little because he had been worn so thin Sherlock almost yelled, but caught himself, and instead said through gritted teeth, "What do you want Mycroft?!"

At that Mycroft had simply let a small smile cross his face as he continued, as if his brother had not just been rude, and acted like Mycroft was his worst enemy. Keeping the smile he said, conspiratorially, "I was hoping you could help me with something. It would be a big favor."

Sherlock had tried to look annoyed at his intruding big brother, but was simply too intrigued by his brothers offer, so he got up from his bed and followed his big brother to his room which was next to Sherlock's. When Sherlock had poked his head in the door he had been stunned, which was not easy to do to him. On Mycroft's desk, which was usually littered with papers and books, much like his own, was every food Sherlock loved, and his favorite drinks, as well as the only bored game Sherlock ever loved to play, Clue, which was set up in the middle of all the food and drinks. When he had looked up at his brother in shock he could not help the smile that spread across his face, and he could not help smiling more when he saw the same smile mirrored on his brother. The smile only grew more infectious when he heard his favorite classical violin songs start to play on the stereo in the corner of Mycroft's room.

When Sherlock had asked why he had done all this for him Mycroft had simply said, "Isn't that what family does for each other? They try and make them feel better when they have had a bad day? That's what you do for people you care about."He had stated it like a fact.

Mycroft had read on his little brother how bad it was the second he saw him when he arrived home just before dinner and saw his little brother bolt up the stairs. He had known how hard it was at school for Sherlock, or at least had briefly observed it in person, and on his brother when ever he came home from school in a bad, or upset mood, and he knew too well how his parents treated his little brother, so he had decided to try and make the day go from being Sherlock's worst day ever, to being his best day ever, and he had succeeded. Five years later and Sherlock still thought of it as such. He still used it to bring himself back up when he hit a bad low.

The good feeling from the memory was fleeting though, even thinking of those perfect few hours was not enough this time, and soon Sherlock found himself curled up in the fetal positing on his bed, trying to curl up into himself, while he sobbed and shook, and for the first time in his life prayed for death, prayed for an end to his pain, prayed for nothingness.

He was scared by his thoughts, by the fact he wanted to take the advice of that classmate. He wanted to stop those thoughts before he acted on them, so after summoning enough energy to control himself at least a little, he tried to phone Mycroft, the only person who ever seemed to care at all, the only one who ever made him feel better, but he ended up getting an answering machine, he knew it was a long shot before he phoned, his brother was a busy man, even if he was not yet out of Uni. It had been a hail Marry.

When he heard the beep he didn't know what to say, and he knew it was painfully obvious he was crying. "Hi, Mycroft, it's Sherlock. I was just hoping I could talk to you…but I guess you are busy…I knew you would be...I would not have even tried, it's just… I ... I really needed to talk to someone, but I guess I won't be…" he paused for a good half minute before he finished with another sob, "I love you Mycroft, I just want you to know that the night we stayed up until one in the morning playing Clue was always my most treasured memory… I'm sorry." He had whispered the last part before hanging up. He knew what he was going to do, and he was pretty sure it would hurt his brother. He just wanted his brother to know it was not his fault, that he in no way blamed Mycroft for ending up here, with these poisonous thoughts and plans.

He stopped to think for a moment, or maybe it was a lot longer than that, time was not really relevant to him at the moment. He thought of all the ways he could do it, how he could kill himself. He thought of a dozen ways and quickly dismissed them, some being simply impossible, while others just did not have enough of a guarantee to work, before landing on one that just seemed the most reasonable and easy way to do it. He was smart, and he had a particular interest in chemistry so he knew what kinds of things would do what needed to be done.

He snuck out of his room, only now realizing how late it must be because the house had long ago gone to sleep, and the only thing he could hear was the faint sound of the far off main road. He went and got some pills from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom that he knew were easy to overdose on and went back to his room, locking the door behind him. He sat in silence for a while longer, letting all the painful memories take over his mind before he swallowed half a dozen pills and laid back on his bed waiting for his soon to come end. Waiting for the promised nothingness, and for the darkness to descend over him.

He could feel it pulling him towards his last moments when his eyelids started to slide shut and he could feel his body trying to protest, and get the poison out, but he would not let it, he had enough control left to override his body's desperate attempts at survival. He drifted off into a hazy world, and was about to be taken completely by the darkness when a sudden commotion brought him back a little. He could hear the faint sound of the front door being banged on, and loud protests from who he assumed was his father. Then he could hear yelling, now from two different men, his father and someone else, and the sound of loud footsteps on the stairs, two pairs. He was faintly curious as to what was happening but not enough to make him even attempt to open his eyes, that is until there was a loud knocking at his door, a desperate kind of knocking, and he could hear someone yelling something and trying frantically to get into his room. He opened his eyes as much as he could when he heard someone throwing themselves against his door, and he was startled to see his brother tumble in as his door gave out and he rush to his side.

He was faintly aware of his brothers frantic pawing at him, trying to feel his pulse, listen to his breathing, and of his brother screaming at his father, and mother who had come to investigate the commotion, to phone an ambulance. It wasn't until his brother was sitting with Sherlock cradled in his arms, stroking his hair that he truly heard what his brother had been muttering since knocking in the door. Mycroft was crying as he whispered it, like it was a mantra, "Please Sherlock, please don't do this. Please don't do this. Please just be okay. Please Sherlock, just please."

Staring up at his older brother, his crying older brother, his older brother who rarely showed emotion of any kind, Sherlock felt a faint regret for what he had just done. He did not like that he was the one causing his always in control big brother to lose that control that was so precious to him. He felt guilty about hurting his brother like this. He had lost consciousness after one final look into Mycroft's frightened and horrified eyes, after staring up at his brothers pained face, his last memory being a whole different kind of excruciating pain. Then the darkness hit, enveloping him completely in the nothingness he had only moments ago wanted so badly.


	2. Words Can Save

John was so tired. He was still fairly new to St. Barts hospital so he had no one to trade shifts with when he needed a day off to rest. He had not made any friends. He had been at the hospital for almost 48 hours straight, only taking naps when he should have been eating. Even then he would only be asleep for about twenty minutes before he would hear, "Dr. Watson, you are needed in the clinic." Or "Dr. Watson, you have been requested in the OR." , and most often, "Dr. Watson, you are needed in the ER right away." He was a great surgeon, in fact once he finished his residency he was going to go and be an army medic, be a surgeon as well as a soldier, but that did not change the fact he had no real name for himself yet, he was looked down on for his young age, and that meant he was stuck with all the more unpleasant cases and patients. Either he was looked down on because other doctors assumed he was not good at what he did, or they knew he was better than them, and they were simply being petty.

Whenever there was a particularly annoying patient, or gruesome situation he was the one they got to deal with it. He was the one who had to have the patience to deal with the hypochondriacs, and he was the one who had to deal the bloody, literally blood soaked, patients that came in through the ER that weren't considered "cool cases". As well as the cases that made most doctors flinch, not because of what happened but how it happened, like the attempted suicides.

That was why after being asleep for no more than five minutes John was running down to the ER where an attempted suicide was just coming in. The first thing he saw as the doors of the ambulance opened was a man, who looked to be around his age, holding onto an umbrella in one hand, like it was his life line, and his other hand was stoking the hair of the patient. In all the years John had been alive, he had never seen someone look as scared as the man with the umbrella. John only had a few seconds to observe the scene before the paramedics had the gurney out of the back and were wheeling it toward the door with John in tow as they quickly briefed him on the situation. And it was not until the man with the umbrella was being held back and yelling, "But that's my little brother, I have to make sure he's okay!", that John looked down to see who his new patient actually was, and it was not until then that he noticed that the boy could not be older than seventeen. He felt his heart drop at the thought of such a young person resorting to something like this, and he felt it drop more as he looked back at the boys older brother, and he realized the man was crying, and pleading. He just wanted to know his baby brother was going to be okay, that he was not going to lose him.

It was at that moment, when he saw the grief on that man's face, and the pleading expression, that he forgot he was tired and worn down, that he'd been up for almost two days straight. He found new energy because he was determined to save this young mans life, and he needed to be able to walk into that waiting room and tell that poor man that his brother was okay, "At least as okay as a suicidal person could be." He added to himself. He needed to feel like he had helped, after being run down for so long he needed this to all turn out well.

For the next two and a half hours John switch to full on Dr. Watson mode, and he was rushing around, doing everything he could for the young man, who he found out after looking at some hastily drawn out charts, was named Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. He did not stop until Sherlock, who had come in on the very brink of death, was transferred to a room where he would be constantly observed, and was in a stable condition. He had found out that the brother's name was Mycroft, apparently he was well known at the hospital for some odd reason. The brothers both had such weird names, he thought to himself. The second he could he went to go find him in the waiting area. Mycroft immediately recognized him as the doctor who had taken his brother away so he was on his feet and walking toward him the second he got in the room, his umbrella at his feet like a walking stick when he paused before John.

With tears still in his eyes, but otherwise looking calm Mycroft spoke first, "Please... please tell me he's okay…" Mycroft stopped to look at Johns name tag, "um, Dr. Watson. Please just tell me he's okay. That I haven't lost the person that means the most to me in this world."

John wanted to put him out of his misery, stop the man from feeling so much pain, so he spoke quickly, "Your brother came in just in time for us to pump his stomach and get most of the poison out of his system. If it would have been even five minutes later we would not have been able to do anything, it would have been to late, but because he got here when he did we were able to stabilize him, but because of the reason he ended up here he is under a twenty four hour psychiatric hold and has to be assessed before he can be released."John tried to smile at the man but was feeling the exhaustion hitting him at full force again, even worse now, because he had no reason to fight it off anymore.

John was not sure how he had expected Mycroft to react; he had seen two different sides of him in two very brief meeting. He saw him at his lowest, when he was broken and worried, and he saw him now, when he seemed to have an amazing amount of control over himself, but he never expected the man to engulf him in a huge bear hug. Mycroft whispered, as if he was afraid if he spoke any louder John would take what he said back, "Thank you so much Dr. Watson. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost my baby brother."

Mycroft didn't let go for a few minutes, but John didn't mind, it was making the man feel better, and he had to admit it felt nice to be recognized, but when he did finally pull away John led him to the room where his brother was, even though strictly speaking Sherlock was not supposed to have visitors yet, he bent the rules a little, and it was worth it when he saw Sherlock open his eyes as he and Mycroft walk into the room, and saw how happy it made Mycroft. It was not the obvious kind of happy, because the smile on Mycroft's face was a pained one, but he could see it in his eyes, and the way he swiftly made his way to his brother's side and started stroking his hair with one hand, while holding his brothers hand with the other, completely abandoning his umbrella against a wall, and John had a strange feeling the man would be rarely without that umbrella. He could tell that now at least some of Mycroft's tears were tears of joy. He could also see the regret on young Sherlock's face, which gave him hope that maybe he would be okay, that he would not try to hurt himself again, and that Mycroft would never have to find out what he would do if he lost his baby brother.

He did not want to interrupt the moment so he stayed in the background and waited for an opportunity to do his evaluation on Sherlock now that he was awake. He thought he would be waiting for a while so he sat down in the corner of the room, watching the two young men. He could have sworn that they were having some kind of nonverbal conversation in addition to the one John could hear but before he could really think about it his exhaustion took over and he found himself drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

He was startled awake by Mycroft a few hours later. At first he did not know where he was or what had woken him, but as his mind started to wake up more, and become coherent, he remembered the night before, and he realized Mycroft was shaking his shoulder gently, and still had his hand on the good doctors shoulder.

Almost whispering Mycroft said, "Sorry Dr. Watson, we did not want to wake you up before. You looked so tired when I first saw you, then when you passed out in the chair you just looked so peaceful, and one of the nurses told us you have been here for over two days straight. We thought we would let you get some rest." He sounded like he was apologizing for doing something wrong and it was confusing John's freshly awakened mind.

Stretching a little on the chair John tried to sound as reassuring as possible as he assured Mycroft, "No need to apologize, god knows I needed some rest. I actually want to thank you for letting me; most people would just get mad at me for it." He smiled up at the man standing over him before he himself got to his feet. With the sleep still audible in his voice he yawned and walked over towards Sherlock's bed as he continued, "However I should probably do my job before I head home for a proper rest."

Sherlock was looking up at him with a piercing look, his quicksilver eyes darting over John. John felt like he was looking straight into his mind when Sherlock finally settled his gaze straight into John's. Like somehow this young man new everything about him and everything he was thinking, and as if Sherlock could read that thought too he started telling John about John's own life, confirming the doctors theory.

"You became a doctor because your dad was a doctor. You look up to him as a hero because he was an army doctor, and in fact once you are done your residency here you will become an army doctor as well, partially because you want to follow in your father's footsteps, also because you want the excitement, but mostly because you want to help people, and who better to help then those who protect their county?" Sherlock paused for a second to intensify his gaze even more before continuing, "The reason you are the doctor who deals with cases like mine is the same as why you want to be an army doctor, you care more for the patients, and you like the excitement of a life or death situation, you like it when you can beat the clock and save a life. At the same time that is how you got a gambling problem, the excitement of winning or losing large amounts. You grew up with support and you got along well with your only sibling when you were young, however you now resent your sibling. It could be that they themselves have an addiction, to alcohol, but it could also be because they recently broke things off their spouse, who you rather liked, because they too were a doctor like you. And you often bend the rules for patients when you do not agree with them, or you think more good could be done if the rule is bent." At no point did Sherlock's voice change from the monotones one and at no point did it show the slightest bit of emotion. He was simply talking like he was stating fact.

John just stared down at him in complete shock. This young man had just told him his whole life story like he was just talking about the weather. It was not until John opened his mouth to speak that he saw any emotion cross Sherlock's face, and only to add to that shock, Sherlock actually flinched away like he thought John was about to yell at him. Instead all John could manage was whispering, "That was brilliant."

That definitely evoked emotion from Sherlock as John saw surprise, and doubt, and even a little embarrassment quickly cross his face before Sherlock spoke in a disbelieving voice, "Really, you think so?"

"Ya, that was amazing! How did you know all that? I know that no one I work with knows even half of that about me." John was still staring down at Sherlock in wonderment.

He actually saw Sherlock blush a little bit as he explained, "While it was all quite simple; simple deductions. For instance I knew about your father because of your stethoscope. It is an old army doctor model, which tells me you got it from an older man who you look up to, because you use it, and the obvious choice is your father, from whom you probably inherited your surgeon hands from. As well the fact that you still use it, and you are almost done your residency tells me you probably want to follow in his footsteps. And the nurse that was telling us you have been here for so long also commented on the fact you always have to deal with such difficult, and urgent cases, but that you never complain, although she thinks it's unfair to put all the pressure on you, but you truly don't seem to mind, which tells me you like the cases that get shunted to you, and the most likely reason is that they are exciting, another reason as to why you would end up as an army medic. As well from what my brother had told me you show a great deal of compassion, after all most doctors would not hang around in the background and wait to do their job when they could be home asleep, just to let brothers talk." Sherlock was actually smiling a little up at John now, no longer sounding like he was simply stating facts. He sounded pleased and excited.

Again John could only manage a whispered, "Wow, that's truly brilliant." Sherlock blushed even more, then John thought of something, "Wait, how did you know about the gambling, my sister's alcoholism, and the fact she left her wife, or that her wife was a doctor?"

Sherlock genuinely smiled up at him now infectiously, "I knew about the gambling because I can see the imprint of a coin in your pocket, too big to be a real coin, so it must be a coin representing something, like dealing with an addiction, and you being a doctor, who is so steadily rising in your profession, would be too smart to be an alcoholic or use any other substance. You know what something like that could do to your career. So the next most likely addiction, and your thrill in getting the upper hand, told me gambling. I got to your sisters addiction simply because I knew about yours, and an addictive personality can be a family trait, and I can see worry lines on your face that seem to be rather permanent, which means you are always worried, and you would not worry about yourself like that, so a sibling. I could also tell by your name tag that it was originally made for someone else, and not your father, so who else would be a Dr. Watson, certainty not your sister with her alcohol problem, so a spouse who took on her last name, but since then they have had a falling out, and that name must no longer apply her, so she gave it to you, which told me you are still in good with your ex sister in law, which also told me you were not on good terms with your sister, since you did not shun her ex after the separation, which also told me your sister was the one to break things off."

Sherlock was looking uncertain at John again as a moment of silence passed so John forced himself to speak, not wanting him to think he did something wrong or unbloody amazing. "That is truly, the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life." Sherlock let the smile spread across his face again as he looked up at the good doctor.

Then suddenly everything came crashing back to him, why he was here with this amazing young man, why he met him in the first place, and his smile faltered, which in turn made the smile on Sherlock's face falter as he said, "You're going to make me talk about it aren't you?" John was convinced he could read minds.

John smiled a sad little smile at him now, "I can't make you talk to me, but you will have to talk to someone, at least if you want to be released anytime soon."

Sherlock nodded, he knew he had to talk to someone, and he figured it might as well be this doctor, after all something about him made Sherlock feel safe, and like he could trust him, so he told John about how school normally was, and how he could normally handle it. He also told John about his parents, and how things had gotten harder after his brother left, but that he never wanted to bother his brother with his problems. He avoided the day in question for as long as possible, but he finally had to talk about what the boy at school had yelled at him from across the cafeteria and how things had only gotten worse when he got home, and how he had tried to phone his brother. Sherlock had kept his eyes down the whole time he was talking but he looked up when he repeated the horrible words of his class mate, and was a little startled to see not only his brother fighting to bite back anger, but Dr. Watson as well, if anything he looked even more angry, and for a second he thought he was angry at him until he realized the good doctor was angry at his classmate, all his classmates, and his parents. He also looked up at his brother when he talked about calling and getting the answering machine, and was once again startled by his reaction, not because he looked angry, but because he looked heart broken and was not even trying to hide it anymore, he never knew Mycroft to look so weak and broken before.

Looking at the heart break on both of the grown mens faces made Sherlock understand how idiotic he had been. For ever doubting his brother loved and cared about him, and for giving up on ever finding someone who would accept him for him, and not hate him for his gifts. He realized there was a reason for him to live, in fact two reasons, and they were both in the room with him, sitting on either side of him. Mycroft was idly petting Sherlock head while the doctor had a hand on his arm, and it was surprisingly comforting to the young genius.

However, a few hours later, after being less than pleasant with the therapist that evaluated him, Sherlock found himself stuck in the hospital for another week. Dr. Watson, who had told both Sherlock and Mycroft to call him John, promised to visit with Sherlock everyday whenever he could. Even though he was a good four years older than Sherlock he could not help looking up to him and his intelligence. John felt like he might finally have made his first two friends in this new city. He was actually greatly looking forward to getting to know both Sherlock and Mycroft better, and he was dying to ask Mycroft about that umbrella.


	3. Words Can Save Part Two

Mycroft had already known his brother was not doing well before he got the horrifying message. He had watched his brother slowly falling deeper and deeper down without knowing it. It brought to mind a quote that had stuck in Mycroft's head when he was in school, from a book they had to read that supposedly made people do crazy things, or at least what he thought, made crazy people do crazy things, but the quote was from "Catcher in the Rye" and it went like this, "I have a feeling like your ridding for a great fall, a special kind of fall. A horrible kind. The man falling is not permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling." That's what had been happening to his brother. He had not realized something was wrong until it was far to late. Mycroft had not even know how bad it was until he heard his brothers broken voice through his answering machine. Mycroft just thanked god that he was busy enough that he always checked his phone the second he got home.

At first when he could hear his brother was crying he feared something was wrong, more wrong then normal, but it was not until he heard his brother say his good bye, which was so obviously a final good bye, that he realized how truly wrong things were. The second the message was over Mycroft had found himself hurtling toward the door, grabbing his waist coat, and an umbrella he thought might help him keep his balance, since he was feeling so dizzy with worry and fear for his little brother. He knew it was not raining, and that there was no sign of rain, but he had not cared at the moment what other people would think, he simply cared about getting to his brother before he was to late.

Luckily for him the valet for his apartment building had not yet parked his car, so like the universe was rooting for him, he was able to jump straight in and leave for his parents house. He new that he had gotten the message a good hour before, but he would not let his mind wander to the fact he was most likely to late. He just focused on not crashing while he sped toward his parents house, only stopping once for a minute to try and phone his parents, to have them try and prevent the loss of not just one son, but both, because not only would Mycroft never talk to them again if anything happened to Sherlock, he was also not sure what he would do if he lost his baby brother. No one answered. He managed to get there in half the time it would normally take and found himself pounding on the front door, having forgot his key in the car which was still running in the drive.

He was yelling as loud as he could to hurry his father to the door, who's foot steps he could hear slowly descending the stairs. "You have to hurry up! Sherly's in trouble! I have to go stop him! I have to make sure he's okay! Would you hurry the hell up!" Mycroft simply never swore, but in the moment he thought it appropriate, and apparently it was a shock enough to his father to hear him swear that he actually did hurry up to open the door.

The second the door opened Mycroft pushed his way past his father who seemed to be yelling back at him, but all Mycroft kept yelling was, "I have to help Sherly, he's in trouble!" He had repeatedly yelled this at his father as he ran up the stairs, his father on his heals. Apparently it had started to sink in that there was something seriously wrong. As Mycroft got to Sherlock's door he frantically tried the handle as his mother poked her head out from her room, but after a few failed attempts he resorted to yelling to Sherlock to open his door as he repeatedly rammed into it, trying to break the lock on the door. When he finally found himself stumbling though the door, and he could see Sherlock staring at him through slitted eyes on the edge of his bed, he ran to his brothers side while yelling for his parents to call an ambulance and automatically started frantically whispering, "Please Sherlock, please don't do this. Please don't do this. Please just be okay. Please Sherlock, please." He took his brother in his arms and started rocking back and forth as he said it, while rubbing his little brothers hair, and he did not stop until the paramedics dragged him away from his brother. Soon after he found himself sitting in the back of the ambulance clutching his umbrella while comforting his unconscious brother, probably more to comfort himself.

He was a little releaved when he heard the little two way radio go off and he saw the two paramedics smile in approval. Crackling it had said, "Dr. Watson will be waiting for your arrival at the doors." He did not pay attention to the name, but he did pay attention to the apparent confidence the paramedics had in this doctor.

Even if he had not been able to read it off the women sitting across from him, he still would have know because she smiled at him and said, "You will be getting the best doctor St. Barts has to offer, as well as the nicest. I have no doubt now that your brother will be fine." He had halfheartedly returned her smile, after all she was trying to comfort him, but he would not let himself have any false hope, or at least to much of it, because he could see how bad off his brother was. He clung to the umbrella even harder.

As the doors to the ambulance swung open he could see a kind looking but very tired doctor surveying them. He looked to be about his age, but he did not use that against the man, after all Mycroft was extremely young for all of the things that he did, and was the best at. He stayed quiet as they pulled his brother out of the back, and as the paramedics were quickly briefing the doctor on Sherlock's situation and vitals. It was not until the man paramedic held him back from following his brother that he spoke up and yelled, "But

that's my little brother, I have to make sure he's okay!" Mycroft could hear the pleading in his voice, and he realized that he was now crying, but he no longer cared, in the moment looking like he was in control of himself did not matter in the least. All that mattered was his brother.

He saw the doctor look down at his brother for the first time and could see heart break cross the man's face, and he saw the doctor look even more heartbroken when he looked back at Mycroft, but again he did not care that the doctor could see the tears in his eyes, or the pain on his face. He only cared that the doctor saved his brother, and he found himself clinging to his umbrella as if clinging to the little bit of hope he got when he saw the doctor seem to get new vigor, more energy he had not had before, after looking down at his brother and back at Mycroft. In that moment he felt like he could trust this doctor to do everything he could for his brother.

Then they were gone and all Mycroft could do was wait, and for two and a half hours that's what he did. He tried to get control over himself, and found he could, for the most part. No mater what he did he continued crying. He did not understand how he could possibly have that much in him to cry out but he forgot about that the second he saw the tawny hair doctor step into the waiting area. He immediately got to his feet and approached the doctor. As the doctor told him his brother was okay he was overcome with an urge to hug the good doctor, who he had found out was Dr. Watson, and found he lost the fight and found himself clinging to Dr. Watson. He stayed like that for a few moments until Dr. Watson led him to his brothers room. He knew that the good doctor was bending the rules for him, but felt he should not comment on it for fear it might make the doctor rethink what he was doing.

As the good doctor and him walked through the door Sherlock opened his eyes and he was overcome with a sense of relief. He quickly strided to his brothers side,abandoning his umbrella behind him since he no longer needed it for support, his brother was once again in front of him and safe. The person he most cared about was no longer on the verge of death. He talked to his brother for a while, not about what happened, but rather about more happy things. Like the memory his brother had mentioned in his message that was Mycroft's most treasured memory. Half the conversation was spoken silently, anybody else would feel like there was a third party they could not hear, but that's how the brothers were. They had their own little language only they knew.

It was not until they heard a soft snore from behind them that they remembered the good doctor was in the room. He was in a chair at the back and he was sound asleep. Both brothers could not help the slight smile that crossed their faces as they looked at the man who looked so peaceful all scrunched up in the hospital chair. They were debating what to do when a nurse came in to give Sherlock some meds that they gave people after their stomach's have been pumped. The debate was over when she noticed Dr. Watson and they heard her say, "God bless 'im. The poor doctor has been here for over two days now. I think this is the first proper sleep the good doctor has had, and yet he has never given his patients anything less than a hundred and ten percent." She paused and smiled down at the sleeping doctor, "Don't he just look so peaceful?" Then she looked back up at them and smiled before exiting the room.

That decided it for them. They would let the good doctor sleep. Their conversation quickly found itself revolving around Dr. Watson. What they thought of him, of course Sherlock had not actually met him since he was unconscious well the good doctor was helping him, but he still made observations. They told each other what they could read about the man, and they would ask the nurses about him when ever they came in for what ever reason. Every nurse had the same basic thing to say. They would coo over how peaceful or cute he looked when sleeping, then would tell the boys about how good and kind of a doctor he was. The one from before talked about the fact the other doctors always made him do what they didn't want to, but that good Dr. Watson never complained. She had added before she left, "They take advantage of the poor doctor, but i think he rather likes the cases that get shunted his way." Then like before she sent a huge smile to the sleeping doctor and was gone.

They decided, before the the doctor was even awake, that they rather liked the man. Mycroft felt indebted to him. They would have let him sleep until he woke up himself but after a few hours the doctor went from looking peaceful to looking upset in his sleep. It quickly became apparent that Dr. Watson was having a rather bad nightmare when he started mumbling a cry for help so they decided quickly it was time to wake the good doctor. At first he seemed rather disoriented, which was endearing to both Mycroft and Sherlock, but soon he was on his feet and at Sherlock's side, making sure he was okay.

Mycroft was deeply impressed when the doctor easily got Sherlock to open up to him, but found that he was overcome with rage as his brother told the two men what had led to his actions. It was all Mycroft could do not to demand the name of the boy who had spoken such a hateful and horrid thing to his little brother, but he told himself it would be easy enough to get it at the school later. What Sherlock did not know was that Mycroft had a lot of connections in London, and had a great amount of pull in the education system, so it would be nothing to punish this horrid little boy for what he had caused. He would make sure this boy was blacklisted from all of the good schools. He was only pulled out of his vengeful thoughts when he looked over at the doctor and saw, if it was even possible, the same amount of anger that Mycroft felt. But again his mind did not have time to linger for Sherlock had started to talk about trying to phone Mycroft, and he felt his heart fall again. He was thankful that he was not the only one trying to comfort his brother as he recalled his darkest and lowest moments in his life for them. He felt his heart warm when he saw the good doctors hand on his brothers arm, and observed that it was making Sherlock feel better. He really felt indebted to Dr. Watson now.

He was not surprised when Sherlock pissed off the therapist that came around to check if Sherlock was still a danger to himself. He was not surprised when Sherlock was told he would be held for a week, although it made no logical sense for the therapist to keep Sherlock around if he pissed her off, and he was not surprised when Sherlock automatically started making escape plans. However, he was surprised when Dr. Watson, who told them both to call him John, managed to get Sherlock to accept the fact he was stuck in the hospital for a week merely by promising to visit him every day. Well as long as Mycroft promise the same thing. As the good doctor left the room both Sherlock and Mycroft were overcome with the feeling the they had just made a new, and very good friend in Dr. John Watson.


	4. Words Can Heal

After going home for a good night's rest Dr. Watson was back in Sherlock's hospital room, as promised. As he walked through the door he noticed Mycroft still sitting in the same seat he had been in when he left the night before, or rather really early in the morning. He knew what it looked like when someone stayed by someone's hospital bed all night, he'd seen it countless times before. He only had a brief moment to think about this, however, before he was struck with that sensation you get when you walk into a room and everything goes silent, like the people in the room had just been talking about you. He could not help the slight blush that crept up on his cheeks.

Awkwardly he greeted the two brothers, "Um, good afternoon." He froze under their intense gaze for a moment before he could continue. "Did you two get any sleep while I was gone?" He scratched the back of his head, only managing to make himself look even more awkward. Both Holmes brothers were endeared by how truly awkward yet adorable the good doctor could look.

To spare him Mycroft answered, "I nodded off for an hour or two after Sherlock fell asleep. Thank you for asking Doctor." He smiled a brilliant smile at the good doctor.

Managing to yet still be more awkward he said, "John. Please call me John." He tried to copy Mycroft's smile but only managed an awkward version of it. After a moment of silence where the two brothers just stared at John with a piercing gaze he cleared his throat and asked, "So, any ideas on how to keep entertained over the next week? I have a few, but they are rather limited."

Sherlock spoke for the first time since John's appearance and in a rather childish tone asked, "Can we play clue? Please!" He sent a childish smile at his brother who chuckled to himself.

Smiling, Mycroft answered, "If the Doctor, or John I should say, is willing to play I don't see why not. I could get a copy here in a few minutes." He smiled at John while Sherlock sent him a puppy dog pout.

A huge smile spread across John face as he cheerfully said, "I love that game! I'm not very good at it, but it is always so interesting trying to figure everything out!" Sherlock sent him a gleeful smile while Mycroft took his phone out and made a quick call.

No more than ten minutes later there was a knock at the door and Mycroft was handed the board game by a rather confused looking, very young, women. Apparently she could not comprehend why her always so serious boss was asking her to run out to get a child's board game, and why she was delivering it to a hospital. She seemed to accept it a little as she recognized who was in the hospital bed, but she still looked confused. Was her boss smiling at her? Was he wearing the same clothes from the day before? And who was the handsome blond man smiling at her? She didn't have long to wonder before she was off to meet up with some friends because apparently she had the day off too.

They played for a few hours, getting through a few rounds, John winning half the time, but he suspected they were letting him win, before they got a little bored of the game and Sherlock started showing John his gifts again by doing a little trick with the game. John or Mycroft would set up a scenario and Sherlock would guess it purely based on them. They did this for a good hour before John had to start shift again and reluctantly left the two brothers behind. He promised to stop by on his dinner break, and again to say bye at the end of shift.

The two brothers spent their alone time in silent conversation, once again avoiding the subject that brought them to the hospital, and focusing even more than before on John. Mycroft showed his great respect for the man, and considered him to be a close friend now, and Mycroft did not have many close friends, he did not trust people easily. Sherlock on the other hand seemed to be developing more than just respect for the man, and even though Mycroft was slightly concerned with this, he said and did nothing about it. Even he could not deny that Dr. John Watson was a very kind, caring, and attractive man.

When John showed up with three dinners, from outside the hospital, the brothers went back to using words to communicate, not wanting to leave the poor doctor confused and out of the loop. After the greetings were exchanged the three of them ate in silence for a while, content silence.

It was Sherlock how spoke first this time. "I heard one of the nurses say that you are off tomorrow John. Does that mean you won't be by to visit?" Sherlock was trying to keep the frown off his face but it did not take a Holmes to pick up on it.

John frowned slightly before answering, "I said I would visit you every day, why wouldn't I visit you tomorrow?" John felt a little like Sherlock did not trust him to keep his promise and that hurt a little.

It was Mycroft who picked up on this in the doctor, and since his brother clearly wasn't he decided that one silent communication would not hurt, so discretely he sent his brother the silent warning to tread lightly, or else he would hurt the poor doctor. Sherlock understood and quickly tried to fix his misstep.

"I just thought that maybe you wouldn't want to come into a hospital on your day off. I'm sure you get enough of the place working, and don't want to spend unnecessary time here." Sherlock sent John a self-conscious smile.

Smiling and with a slight laugh John said, "Of course I wouldn't want to come here on my day off for no reason, but I have a reason." There was an unspoken 'silly' at the end of John's sentence.

The three chatted about light hearted subjects until John had to leave to finish shift and Mycroft used this time to find a shower in the hospital and get a change of clothes brought to him. Both even managed to fall asleep by the time John had finished shift and walked into the room to see Mycroft curled up in his chair like a cat, and Sherlock hugging a pillow like a teddy bear. John didn't want to wake the brothers up so instead he got an idea and made a beeline for the gift shop downstairs before it closed in fifteen minutes.

When Sherlock woke up the first thing he noticed was his brothers impression of a sleeping cat, then he noticed his head being supported by a pillow he remembered falling asleep hugging, and he was confused because he was still hugging something, but it was more soft and squishy. He looked down to see himself hugging a big brown teddy bear wearing a beige jumper. He smiled down at the teddy bear before looking around the room. The first thing that caught his eye was John in the chair on the other side of his bed, fast asleep. He stared at the sleeping man for a few moments before he sensed movement on the other side of the bed. When he turned to look at Mycroft, who was now doing an impression of a stretching cat, he could not help holding out the teddy bear for the man to see. Mycroft look at the bear with slight confusion until he heard the slow and steady breathing coming from the other arm chair.

He poked his head up to look at the sleeping man before breaking out in a huge smile that spoke of the laughter he was fighting back. Sherlock looked at his brother in confusion, clutching the bear even tighter to his chest before his brother whispered while silently laughing "The bear… is wearing… the same jumper… as John!" He was clutching his sides with silent laughter as the image of John as a teddy bear ran through his head, and the image of Sherlock clutching the bear in front of him did not help, or the look on Sherlock's face as he looked with confusion from the bear to John, and back to the bear before a smile broke across his face too. Neither understood why it was this funny to them, but none the less soon they were both laughing so hard they could not breath or make a sound, and the second Sherlock heart monitor, which they made him wear whenever he was sleeping, started to freak out, John was jumping up out of his chair in doctor mode, only serving to somehow make them laugh harder, which only made the monitor freak out more, in turn making the still sleep confused doctor freak out more until he came back to full consciousness only to see the two brothers red in the face with laughter, and in turn he started to blush.

Wanting to make the poor doctor feel better both brothers made an effort to stop laughing and once they got to the point where they were just giggling John asked in a self-conscious tone, "Why are you laughing?"

Still having to stop every few words because of laughter Sherlock answered, "Well it started out… because of the bears jumper… then it kind of got out of hand…then...then when you jumped up… it… it was just so… so funny!" He started laughing hard again which set off Mycroft. John just stood there in confusion for a moment until Mycroft laughed himself right out of his chair, sending John into a bout of laughter which only got worse when Sherlock laughed so hard at his brother he fell off the bed and into the chair John had just been sitting in, before falling to the floor as well. After the laughter subsided, and all three where on the floor, John and Mycroft helped Sherlock get back into bed and all three were asleep within minutes, John in his chair, Mycroft in his, and Sherlock clutching his new teddy bear from John as he slept on the hospital bed.


End file.
